The Sicilian's Mistress

The year Milly had turned nineteen her life had changed out of all recognition. Leo, her feckless but very charming father, had died of a sudden heart attack in Spain.

After eleven years of sharing her father’s gypsy lifestyle, Milly had wanted to put down roots and make plans. She had applied for a place on a two-year horticultural course at a London college. With not a single educational qualification to her name it had taken courage to put herself forward, and she had been overjoyed when she’d been accepted as a full-time student.

She had lived on a shoestring in a dingy bedsit, working part-time in a supermarket to supplement her tiny grant. Her first real friend had been the bubbly blonde who’d lived across the landing. Lisa had worked for a strippergram agency and had lived in considerably greater comfort than Milly.

One afternoon, Lisa had come to her door in a real state. ‘I have to do a booking in the City tonight and I can’t make it,’ she groaned. ‘Stevie’s just called to ask me out to dinner and you know what he’s like! If I’m not available, he’ll ask someone else!’

Lisa had given her heart to a real creep. The saga of her sufferings at Stevie’s ruthlessly selfish hands could have filled a book the size of the Bible. Yet when Stevie called Lisa still dropped everything and ran, because he had trained her that way.

‘Please do this booking for me,’ Lisa pleaded frantically. ‘You don’t have to take anything off. All you’ve got to do is jump out of this stupid fake cake dressed as an angel and smile!’

Milly grimaced. Lisa raced back to her bedsit and returned with an armful of celestial white robes and a small gilded harp. ‘It’s a really dated stunt, but these executive-types want something tasteful because they’re scared witless of offending the big boss. It’s his birthday and his name is D’Angelo…angel—get it?’

So that was how Milly had ended up jumping out of Gianni’s birthday cake. She had thrown herself upright and found herself looking straight down into dark eyes that flashed to the most amazing shade of gold. Those eyes had spooked her. Tripping in her oversized robes, she had lurched off the trolley, careened into the board table beside it to send half the drinks flying and had finally landed in a tumbled heap at Gianni’s feet. The ghastly silence her clumsiness had evoked remained with her even now.

‘Happy birthday, Mr D’Angelo,’ she had muttered doggedly.

‘What do you do for an encore?’ Gianni enquired in silken enquiry. ‘Level the building?’

Severe embarrassment flipped into sudden fury at that sarcastic sally. ‘Don’t be such an insensitive prat!’ Milly hissed in angry reproach. ‘Go on—help me up…don’t you have any manners at all?’

A swelling tide of gasps, sharp, indrawn breaths and muted groans rose from the executives still glued to their seats round the board table.

Gianni looked stunned. Then, disorientatingly, he threw back his arrogant dark head and laughed. ‘For a little titchy thing, you’ve got quite a tongue, haven’t you?’

‘You are one ignorant pig!’ Milly told him, even as he extended a lean hand to help her upright. She pushed his hand away and sat carefully untangling the robes from her legs so that she could rise without assistance and take a step back to impose some distance between them.

Gianni then helpfully extended the harp she had dropped on him. ‘What do you do next?’ he asked, lounging back in his imposing chair with an air of sardonic anticipation.

Milly snatched the harp back. ‘If you’re hoping I’m about to start stripping, it’s not your day! I keep all my clothes on.’

Gianni studied her with even greater amusement. ‘Aren’t you supposed to at least sing many happy returns?’

At that reminder, Milly stiffened resentfully. ‘I couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket.’

‘You…are…priceless.’ Gianni savoured her, brilliant eyes fixed like lasers to her expressive face.

Rising from his chair to his full intimidating height, Gianni closed one hand over hers and turned to address their gaping audience. ‘Check the Health and Safety rules next time you decide to give me a surprise. This particular angel could have sued the pants off us if she’d been hurt!’

‘Let go of my hand,’ Milly urged as he carried her across the room with him.

He thrust open the door that led back into the corridor. ‘Was this your last booking?’

‘My only one—’

‘Then I’ll take you home.’

‘No thanks.’ Pulling free of his hold, Milly hurried back to the cloakroom in which she had earlier changed out of her own clothes.

When she emerged, clad in jeans and a sweater, Gianni was still waiting for her.

‘You’re a bit like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?’

‘You’re very beautiful. Don’t act so surprised when I tell you that. It doesn’t wash with looks like yours,’ Gianni drawled with a cynical smile. ‘I’ll take you home. You can get dressed up. We’ll go out to dinner.’

‘No, thanks,’ she said tautly, annoyed that temptation was flickering when he was so screamingly unsuitable. Dressed up? Dressed up in what? Did he think she had a designer wardrobe to fall back on?

‘Why not?’